


Of All The Flowers You Picked, I Knew You Would Forget, Forget Me Not

by Earenniel



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bromance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geralt is guilty and Jaskier is hurting, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor Character Death, Multi, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion, This is my first fic on here so I don’t know how to tag, please don’t yell at me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22568932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Earenniel/pseuds/Earenniel
Summary: Oneshot. Geralt deals with the aftermath of a tragedy, and a heartbroken bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 28
Kudos: 182





	Of All The Flowers You Picked, I Knew You Would Forget, Forget Me Not

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello there!! ☺️  
> Okay so, um this is my very first fic on here, AND my very first fic in this lovely, amazing fandom! (that I’ve posted anyway haha 😉)  
> So guys, it’s 4.57am right now and I’ve stretched my writing muscles all they can stretch tonight, this thing had a mind of it’s own and kinda ran away from me?! I haven’t written properly in YEARS and I am SO rusty so this is probably a big pile of crap and I’m still not happy with it but hey it’s nearly five in the morning so I’m just gonna throw caution to the wind and post this little bugger! It’s a bit of the Netflix series and book series so apologies if this doesn’t make sense or anything... I’m a sucker for angst and this little scene thing just wouldn’t leave my head so I thought I’d actually try and write something so please let me know what you think! Constructive criticism only please cause I’m a sensitive soul who doesn’t like getting squished, kinda like a marshmallow I guess? Anyway, I’m a rambler so I’m gonna stop rambling now and let you get on to the good stuff...or bad stuff... aargh I’m sorry if you hate it!! But wow kudos and comments would like, make me explode with happiness and sunshine and rainbows...  
> Title from The Amazing Devil - Elsa’s Song.  
> Beta’d by the endlessly kind DaisyAnneWinchester

** OF ALL THE FLOWERS YOU PICKED, I KNEW YOU WOULD FORGET, FORGET ME NOT**

Geralt stepped cautiously into the room, surveying the damage he blamed himself for. Jaskier had his back to him, and even from the back, his posture spoke of utter devastation. His shoulders were slumped, sitting there facing the bed, and even if Geralt’s enhanced senses hadn’t been able to _feel_ Jaskiers grief in the air he could certainly _see_ it, as Jaskier’s slight frame shook with devastating sobs.

Sighing deeply, he took a few small strides and let his hand hover above Jaskier’s shoulder for a moment before gently lowering it in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

It was ignored.

“Jaskier, I…” he trailed off, knowing what he wanted to say but not quite able to get it out.

He took a deep breath and tried again.

“Jaskier… I’m…” he grunted and hated himself for finding this so hard, “I’m sorry.”

Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say.

Jaskier’s shoulders went rigid for a few seconds, then he flew up so fast the chair he had been sitting on flew to the ground. He whirled round to face the Witcher, eyes red and angry, tears streaming down his face.

“You’re…. fucking…fucking _WHAT_?? You’re _SORRY_? Just what the hell do you want me to do with a fucking _sorry_ , Geralt?”

Jaskier was shaking uncontrollably, his hands balled up into fists at his side, looking at Geralt as if he wanted to rip his head off. He didn’t just look furious, he looked _murderous_.

Geralt took a step back, his hands raised in an effort to placate the grieving man in front of him.

“She…she was my _friend_ Geralt. My _family_. Although I doubt _you’d_ understand that you heartless, emotionless asshole!” Jaskier yelled, getting right up close, so angry he was practically spitting in Geralt’s face.

“What was it you said to me? Why is it whenever you found yourself in a pile of shit it is always me shovelling it? Well what about _YOU_?! Leaving death and destruction WHEREVER YOU GO!” Jaskier screamed, his whole body shaking with emotion.

“She didn’t do ANYTHING to you! She- for god knows what reason- fell in love with you and you couldn’t even give her the time of day! This is all _YOUR_ fault!! She deserved so much better than YOU!” Jaskier screamed, shoving Geralt with both hands on his shoulders. When that had no effect on the Witcher he began pounding his fists into Geralt’s armour with such force his knuckles scraped bloody along the bits of metal, driving them both to the edge of the room until Geralt backed up into the door. Until now Geralt had been silently taking the attack, he knew he deserved it. His insides twisting painfully at the state of his friend, he couldn’t let Jaskier hurt himself any further on his armour, not when he’d already caused his bard so much pain and anguish.

“Jaskier, stop it” he grunted, trying and failing to catch Jaskier’s arms for a few moments, both of them flailing to get a grip on the other. “ _Jaskier_!!” He caught one of Jaskier’s wrists but still Jaskier struggled against him and continued to pound his other fist into Geralt’s shoulder. “You’re hurting yourself Jaskier, stop this, RIGHT FUCKING _NOW_!” he bellowed in Jaskier’s face, managing to shock him enough to grab both wrists and pin them both against his own chest.

Jaskier paused then, his chest heaving, looking up at Geralt with red eyes and a tear streaked face, and broke down completely. The agony in his sobs, the raw, deep sorrow in them sent a sharp pain through Geralt’s heart and compelled him to do the only thing he could think of to do that might help. He closed the small gap between them and wrapped the bard in the most gentle hug he could manage, one hand around the bards shoulders and the other cupping the back of his head. It was all too much for Jaskier, and Geralt caught him as he felt his legs give out on him. They slowly sank together to the floor, Geralt all but cradling Jaskier as his sobs wracked his body.

“I’m s-sorry” Jaskier brokenly whispered against Geralt’s chest, and Geralt found himself having to look up in despair to stop his own tears from falling. For Jaskier, for Jaskier’s friend, for the tragic circumstances that had befallen them all.

“”It’s okay Jaskier…it’s okay…it’s _okay_ ” he said over and over in a low voice, one hand stroking Jaskier’s hair in an attempt to calm him. He held his friend gently but securely as he sobbed, determined to give him the time he needed to grieve.

“W-why? Why… did she have to die?” Jaskier whispered in between sobs. “Why Geralt, she was still so young, so full of life. It isn’t fair, why did she have to die?” Right then and there, Geralt hated himself more than he had ever hated himself, for not knowing the answer. For not knowing that there was a plaque in the city. For not knowing of the other bards’ feelings towards him. For not knowing that she had followed them with a mind to tell Geralt of her feelings. For not knowing of her falling ill until it was too late. For not knowing what he could possibly say to ease the grief of his friend. But he owed Jaskier at least to try.

“Life is…shit.” He grunted in frustration, that wasn’t how that was supposed to come out. Sighing deeply, he absently stroked Jaskier’s soft hair as he tried to come up with a decent response as they sat together on the floor of the healers room. He tried a different tactic, because although he couldn’t give Jaskier the answers he wanted, he could give him comfort another way. “She loved you. You know that. She knew you loved her. She thought of you as family and she knew you thought of her as a sister… a lot of people don’t have that. A lot of people go through their lives not meaning anything to anyone. Alone. Unloved... hmm…” he trailed off lamely. He wasn’t good at this.

They stayed like that on the floor, the mighty Witcher silently holding his grieving bard as his sobs turned to silent tears, and in turn turned to sniffles, until eventually Jaskier cleared his throat, sighed, and slowly made to shakily stand.

His eyes red and puffy, he looked at Geralt, who was in turn looking back at him with deep concern etched onto his face.

“You know, for a witcher who isn’t meant to feel emotions, you’re damn good at understanding them.” Jaskier chuckled humourlessly, sniffing and rubbing his eyes and looking for all the world like he hadn’t slept in a week. “I’m... I’m sorry I blamed you earlier… I was in shock and it wasn’t fair to take it out on -”

“You’re right.”

“What? No, Geralt -”

“I should have known she was following us. I should have protected her. For you. I should have known, damn it. I...I’m sorry Jaskier. I’m sorry for my part in this. You lost someone dear to you because of me. You’re right, I do cause destruction wherever I go. You’re better off -”

“Don’t.” Jaskier cut Geralt off in a low voice, looking down at his bruised and bloody knuckles. “Just don’t. Don’t abandon me. Not again. Not now. I know you think you’re better off alone, and that I’m better off without you… but the truth is you’re _not_. _I’m_ not. Travelling with you, hunting with you, it makes my life worth living. You’re _not_ alone. And…” Jaskier paused, unsure how his next words would be taken. “You’re… not…unloved either.” Geralt’s eyes widened at this admission, his heart beating just a little bit faster as he looked anywhere but at Jaskier.

“Geralt” Jaskier said gently, walking up to him and putting one hand on his shoulder. Waiting until Geralt raised his head to look Jaskier in the eyes. “I…I don’t think I can take losing anyone else.” Jaskier whispered brokenly. They stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed like an age, an understanding passing between them. A promise that the bond they shared would not be broken by either of them willingly ever again, but would be nurtured and treasured and fortified so that not even the strongest, most powerful of forces could break it. The spell was broken by the healer coming in and declaring she needed the room for more patients, and finally, _finally_ , Jaskier knew the time had come to accept what had happened there today.

Jaskier approached the bed slowly, with Geralt’s hand on his arm. “I want to bury her,” he said, reaching out with a trembling hand to brush a strand of golden curls away from her face before moving forward and gently pressing his lips to her forehead in a final kiss of goodbye. “I know,” came a deep rumble. “I’ll help.” He hiccuped back a sob as he pulled away, his salty tears landing on her pale lips. Geralt reverently lifted her body, Jaskier following behind as they made their way out of the tent, passed the rest of the fallen, out of the city gates and out into the nearby woods.

Jaskier picked the place. Up on a hill, overlooking a sparkling little lake surrounded by trees. Where the birds could sing for her. Jaskier thought it was fitting. They placed sage and lilies on her simple grave, pink roses and little blue forget-me-nots.

Geralt bowed his head and Jaskier, inhaling shakily, started to speak. “I picked you some forget-me-nots. I know they were your favourite, little sister. And that is my promise to you. I shall never forget you. You were taken far too soon, but I know I’ll see you again. One day. I love you. Goodbye, little Essi.” He knelt down and re-arranged the flowers one last time, drew one hand over his eyes and choked back a sob, stood back up and slowly, slowly, walked away.

* * *

  
  
In the many years that followed, on the same day every year, the city folk had come to expect the sight of the mighty White Wolf and his bard passing through. Sometimes with a fierce looking blonde girl at their side. Rarer times with a dark-haired woman with violet eyes. More often than not, it was just the two of them. They would walk, with solemn purpose, out into the woods. The Witcher and his bard. The bard and his Witcher. And in the bard’s hands, always, he carefully carried a bouquet of fragrant forget-me-nots.


End file.
